The lengths some people will go to
by herringprincess
Summary: Harry and Snape meet in bizarre circumstances some time after the war with Voldemort. So, why does Snape hate Harry Potter? Sillyangsty. My other fic is better


A/N This is for Kerry (thepet, petlunatic). When I asked for suggestions for a one shot – 'Pairings? Ratings? Genres? Lengths?' – she replied 'a Snape/Harry fic involving lengths ;-)' So that's what she got! It's quite silly, but quite angsty too.

* * *

**The lengths some people will go to**

Harry stood at the edge nervously, feeling vulnerable. He had taken his glasses off, of course, and should really have performed a temporary eye-correction spell. But in many ways he preferred, in this situation, not to be able to see the others using this facility. He only wished that they couldn't see him. He was sure, whatever Ginny said, that he didn't look good in swimming trunks.

He was in the entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic. Harry could still remember the first time he had visited it, when he had his hearing for conjuring up a Patronus in front of Muggles, and how he had lurked in fear behind Arthur Weasley. He wished he had somebody to lurk behind today. It seemed so long ago; the hall had changed a great deal since then. Back then a large fountain had stood in the middle, with large statues of a wizard, witch, centaur, goblin and house-elf in its centre, the non-human species gazing adoringly at the witch and wizard. Following the modern goblin rebellion (who ever would have thought Binns had actually taught them _relevant, useful_ history through all those years of boredom?), the house-elf liberation movement (good old Hermione) and the centaur treaty (thanks to Firenze), those statues had needed to be removed on the grounds of both accuracy and political correctness. But what was to be done with the fountain? Why, it was to be converted into a swimming pool, of course.

Harry remembered with crystal clarity the final battle with Voldemort and his minions – the battle that had almost been lost. Voldemort had made sure he never fought on a level playing field, always on a site with obstacles and corners, preferably one where running and dodging became of paramount importance. And for good reason. With magical ways of doing virtually any activity, most of the Aurors had in fact turned out to be clinically obese, with little muscle tone. There were many wonderful things about Quidditch, but it didn't keep you very fit. The Death Eaters, on the other hand, had had little to do in Azkaban for so many years except star jumps and jogging on the spot, and that was what they had done. Isn't it amazing what boredom drives one to?

And so it had been decreed: not only was the great fountain to be turned into a swimming pool, but swimming practise was made compulsory for all ministry members at least three times a week.

* * *

And so Harry Potter, chief Auror of the ministry, stood poised to jump into the waters, ashamed of his scrawny limbs. Luckily there was only one other person in there today, on the other side of the pool. He was swimming lengths with slow but skilled precision, without stopping for breaks. He must have been practising. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry dive-bombed into the water, splashing everywhere. A voice came from the other side of the pool, irritable, sarcastic and oddly familiar. 'Watch what you're doing, Potter. Some of us are here to actually swim.'

Harry rubbed his eyes, the chlorine stinging them, and squinted at the figure glowering at him. The voice was familiar……

* * *

'Snape?' 

The older wizard was clearly annoyed. 'The days when I could insist you called me Professor may be long gone, but respecting your elders would not go amiss.'

'Right,' Harry said, rolling his eyes. 'My mistake. I should have called Voldemort "sir" when I killed him, then?'

Snape glowered as only he could. 'Arrogant just like your father,' he retorted. 'Of course you dispatched the Dark Lord single-handedly. You're not the only one with a scar you know.'

Harry, much against his will, was shamed by Snape's words. With the honours done him, it had become too easy to forget others' roles in the struggle. 'Scar?' he asked, puzzled.

Snape turned over his forearm for Harry to see. It was red and raw, and blistered. It looked as though somebody had carved the Death Eaters mark on there with a knife just minutes ago, and then burnt the whole area for good measure. Harry could not help himself from gasping in horror. 'It – it's not healed?' he managed. In truth he had never known such a scar had been inflicted.

'No,' Snape replied coldly. 'And the best mediwitches in the country say that it never will. Until I die it will look, and feel as though my Lord inflicted it just moments ago. A fitting reward for those who betrayed him, that we might remember for all time: once we are his, we are forever marked.'

Harry was gruesomely interested now. 'Does the chlorine not sting?' he asked.

'It is not a natural wound, Potter. Only magic could affect its workings in the slightest. Magic stronger than that possessed by any living wizard.' Snape looked suddenly cross at finding himself talking to Harry Potter. 'We all have our burdens now. Our memories most of all. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to swim.' He turned away brusquely. Harry tried to sympathise, he tried to feel some kind of fellowship with this man who had bullied him through lower school, but found that he couldn't. He knew that his mother would have done, and he longed to himself. But something in Snape's manner prohibited it. Snape didn't want people to feel sorry for him, and he didn't want people he despised to be friendly with him. He was a closed book, radiating nastiness and hatred. Harry knew the man to be good, but could not feel it quite.

'Why do you hate me?' Harry said abruptly before Snape could remove himself from earshot. Snape paused and turned around, very slowly. He stared at Harry, who stared right back.

* * *

Snape blinked, and finally spoke. 'Because I fancy you. Obviously.' 

Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. 'But – bu-' he managed.

Snape continued. 'And your father, too. We spent the whole of our time at Hogwarts wanting to jump each other.'

Harry looked like he was about to faint.

'Of course, if he was still alive, both of you at once would be the ideal. Oh, to plant my seed in two Potters!'

Harry whimpered slightly. Snape rolled his eyes. 'Oh honestly, Harry, do you have no sense of humour? Just like your father.' He turned to go away, back to swimming, shaking his head as he did so. He stopped for just a moment before swimming away, and said over his shoulder, 'Don't expect me not to hate, Potter. It's all that I have, and all that I am now.'

As Harry watched the ex-professor swimming lengths, he found that he did indeed feel sorry for him; because of, not in spite of, Snape's hatred.


End file.
